


Peter, Peter

by molo (esteefee)



Series: Bedtime Stories [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-16
Updated: 2007-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch finds a way to keep him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter, Peter

As soon as they walked away from Kira and the Pits, Starsky let loose with the words that had been simmering in his gut.

"Fucking two-timing blonde."

Hutch didn't drop his arm, and Starsky could feel the faint rumble of his dry laugh.

"I _know_ you don't mean me."

"And how _about_ you?" Starsky said, releasing his grip on Hutch's shoulder and giving his partner a you-ain't-out-of-the-doghouse-yet look. But Hutch didn't look very apologetic, and shot him a raised eyebrow, the seam of his lips unbending.

The challenge made Starsky's cock stir dangerously.

"You owe me a girlfriend," he said, dropping his eyes to Hutch's groin so there could be no mistaking his meaning.

But Hutch shook his head and looked away. "Not tonight, sweetheart. I've got a headache."

Maybe he did, but Hutch had never turned him down before. And Hutch's back was stiff as he strode over to his crusty old LTD.

Starsky watched him get in and drive away.

ooOoo

Getting shot wasn't much fun. Starsky could almost hope it would be the very last time he'd ever get shot at again. It was months before he could even move without being damned careful how he did it.

Hutch made like a servant, bringing him groceries, cleaning up after him. Or maybe he was like a personal valet—for the first month or so Starsky couldn't even tie his fucking shoes. Or make it to the john without help.

As soon as Starsky could do those things, Hutch moved out again, though he stopped by every morning to make him breakfast, and to do other essential stuff—chauffer him to the doc, or pick up his medication. Sometimes Starsky would wake up from an afternoon nap and find Hutch was in his apartment again, doing the dishes or dusting or some shit. Penance, Starsky figured. As if Hutch could've teleported over the Torino and taken the slugs himself.

Stupid blond.

One week off the pain pills and other meds, Starsky woke up with his first boner since getting plugged. He reached down beneath the sheets and greeted his erection with delight.

 _Good to see you, buddy_ , he thought, grinning. He knew just what he wanted to do with his newly restored capacity. And who with.

He got out of bed, automatically going easy on his healing chest by shuffling his ass over the side before standing. He didn't really have to be that careful anymore, but it had become habit. Then he went to the bathroom and showered, resisting the temptation to bring himself off with his soapy hands. He was saving his shot.

As usual, Hutch had made breakfast, eggs and bacon and toast, and was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of black coffee and the morning paper. His hair was damp, moustache freshly trimmed, and he gave Starsky a quick grin when he walked in.

"You're up early," Hutch said. "I still have half an hour before I have to leave for work."

"I think you're about to come down with something terrible," Starsky said.

Hutch raised his eyebrows.

Starsky cocked his hip and just looked at him, daring him to see the bulge pushing at the front of his robe.

Hutch's eyes widened, and then he looked at his paper, frowning. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing, yet," Starsky said, hoping his partner would get a clue.

Hutch's shoulders tensed and he mumbled something.

"Say again?" This wasn't going as smoothly as Starsky had hoped. Usually all he had to do was give a hint and they'd be going gangbusters in under a second. Of course, that was before... _her_. And before the shooting. _Shit, don't tell me the Blintz is hung up about something. Not when I've got my first hard-on in three months.  
_  
"Hutch—"

"You're not...well enough," Hutch said, still mumbling into his paper.

Starsky pushed down his sudden resentment and said calmly, "I'm alive, aren't I? And boy, do I have proof." He waited a second, but Hutch didn't respond. Starsky put his hand on Hutch's shoulder.

"Hey, I wanna celebrate. With you."

Hutch's eyes dropped, but his lips curved in a small smile. "Okay," he said softly.

Starsky grinned ran his hand up Hutch's neck, trapping the silky hair between his fingers. Hutch bent his head to give him better access.

"Couple of things, though," Hutch said quietly.

"Huh?" Starsky pushed his bulging front against Hutch's shoulder. "You wanna talk? Now? When I got my first woody since...forever?"

He'd earned a soft laugh, but it was a little nervous-sounding.

Hutch said, "I've been thinking about it, ever since...the hospital. That ever since... _her_ , well...I don't want there to be another problem like that." Hutch stopped the confusing ramble and tilted his head up, his hair falling back from his face as he stared into Starsky's eyes.

"I don't want it to be anyone but us for a while," Hutch finally said bluntly.

Starsky felt his mouth open in surprise.

"I'm not saying forever," Hutch said hastily. "Just for now. While you're still getting better...."

"No problem, Blintz." Starsky said it fast, because Hutch's voice had lowered in embarrassment toward the end.

Also, it was a no-brainer as far as Starsky was concerned. Not just because the scars on his chest were enough to give the Cruella De Vil the shakes, let alone some airheaded disco chick, but also because he vaguely understood where Hutch was coming from. Things were crazy enough right now.

"I should've come up with it myself," he said, because Hutch was looking a little astonished at his quick response. "What was the second thing?" He swayed, rubbing against Hutch's shoulder to remind him of the urgency of the situation.

"Oh." Hutch seemed momentarily distracted by the movement, but managed to say, "The second thing is...we take it slow and easy for now, you know?"

That one was a little harder. Starsky didn't like slow, and he sure the hell preferred hard and fast over 'easy'.

"I'm _fine_ , Hutch," he said impatiently.

"I know you are," Hutch agreed quickly. "It's just for now, just until you're...a hundred percent." He looked away, flushing.

"Okay," Starsky said, and got a broad smile of relief from his partner.

"Okay." Hutch turned toward him in his chair, and Starsky let his fingers slide through the fine, light strands of hair. Then Hutch's hands were at the belt of his robe, and Starsky shrugged his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Nothing there that Hutch hadn't seen too many times. Starsky had no reason to hide the scars, but he closed his eyes when he felt Hutch rest his forehead against his belly. Then the soft lips were kissing him just below the bottom scar, the moustache scratching a little at the skin, and the wetness of Hutch's tongue started working lower.

So good, to be touched this way. It had been way, way too long. Even though Starsky was used to more rough urgency from Hutch, he found himself relaxing into the soft touch. Hutch's hands were sliding up and down Starsky's thighs, seeming to take away his strength with the gentle stroking.

He felt his cock grasped firmly in one big hand, and Starsky jumped at the shock of pleasure.

"Good?" Hutch's soft hair was brushing against Starsky's stomach.

"Yeah, good," Starsky said, his voice a little hoarse with need. And then Hutch's lips took him, sucking him into his warm mouth. "Good," Starsky moaned. The long hair had fallen over Hutch's face, and Starsky moved his fingers through it again, pushing it back so he could see those lips working him so well.

The generous mouth sucked, pulled, teased, and oh, Hutch's lips caught on the crown, tugging while his tongue moved over the head, his hand pumping below.

"Keep doing that. That. Right there," Starsky demanded, moving his hips, feeling the rise of his blood and the power in his thighs drawing up through his nuts. He looked down and caught Hutch's eyes staring, and then Hutch bent and took him in deep, and Starsky locked his knees and came with a groan, pumping into Hutch's mouth, on and on, feeling pleasure in the slight scrape of Hutch's molar as he swallowed and the suction that pulled the come right out of Starsky's spasming cock.

"Ah. God," he finally gasped out. When he opened his eyes, Hutch's arms were wrapped around his waist, holding him upright. Not a bad idea, because Starsky's legs felt so weak he was in danger of toppling over.

"Good?" Hutch said, looking up at him. He licked his lips.

"Oh, man," Starsky said. He bent down and laid a hungry kiss there, but Hutch pulled away after a moment.

"Gonna be late," he said.

"Huh?" Maybe the orgasm had sapped his brains, but he was pretty sure Hutch hadn't come yet.

"For work," Hutch explained. He stood, gently pushing Starsky back to make room. "I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," Starsky repeated dully.

By the time he could open his mouth again, Hutch had strapped on his Magnum and slipped out the door.

ooOoo

Hutch came by that night like he promised. Starsky had gotten hard again, thinking and waiting, and as soon as Hutch walked in, he grabbed him and pushed him sideways until Hutch dropped the bag he was carrying and staggered against the small table by the door.

Hutch set his hands on Starsky's shoulders, holding him back from the whopper of a kiss he'd intended to deliver.

"What'd I say about easy?" Hutch said, a little mockingly.

"Hutch..." Starsky whined impatiently, but Hutch just gave a soft laugh and guided him gently to the kitchen table.

"Look, you smashed your cheeseburger," Hutch said, retrieving and putting the misshapen bag on the table. "Let that be a lesson to you."

Starsky grumbled, but the cheeseburger smelled good, and Hutch wasn't going anywhere. So he sat down to eat, chasing the burger and fries with some fresh lemonade that Hutch prepared. Starsky watched Hutch as he ate sloppily, and thought about licking the ketchup from the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, I have a demand of my own," Starsky said, wanting to get a little of his own back. He watched as Hutch processed the comment, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper.

"What's that?" Hutch mumbled with his mouth full.

"You lose the damned cookie-duster," Starsky said with a grin, then looked back down at his burger before the outraged expression had even finished spreading across his partner's features. "Hey, it's only fair."

"Fine," Hutch said in a garble voice.

Starsky adjusted his ketchup-licking fantasy, and by the time they were done eating, his hard-on was trying to squirrel its way between the slot in his shorts. But Hutch still made him go easy, stripping him slowly, touching his chest with softly grazing fingers until Starsky was sweating with wanting it so bad. Then Hutch leaned over him and teased Starsky's cock with the tip of his tongue, flicking it over the head before kissing down the shaft.

"Damn. Damn," Starsky moaned, wanting more pressure, wanting those sucking lips to close over him. But Hutch was down at his nuts now, nuzzling at the sac, pulling one ball then the other into his mouth. Starsky put a hand into the long hair and tugged hard.

Hutch lifted his head and pulled away, wincing when his hair caught momentarily in Starsky's rings.

"Come on," Starsky said. "Eat me."

"Oh, I'll eat you," Hutch, his husky tone making Starsky's nuts twist. "I'll eat you right up." He put his fingers up to Starsky's lips and Starsky sucked them greedily, wetting them, knowing what was in store. Hoping for even more.

Hutch smiled and took his hand back, then leaned over to kiss him at last while those wet fingers went walking below Starsky's balls to slip their way into his asshole.

"Uhhm," Starsky said into the kiss. He tried to lift his head to deepen it but Hutch had his other hand on his head, holding him down. Hutch nibbled at his lips before licking them. Starsky's tongue came out to taste himself on Hutch's lips.

Hutch's fingers slid deeper, and Starsky groaned. There was nothing he liked better than Hutch's fingers up his ass, unless it was Hutch's cock moving inside him so good. He hoped he would get that tonight.

But Hutch ended the kiss and made his way downward to swallow Starsky's cock, eating him alive as promised, pinning him to the bed with his jaws, trapping him between the pleasure of his mouth and the movement of his fingers deep behind Starsky's nuts.

"God! Hutch. Please." Starsky's voice sounded weak to his own ears. Hutch shouldn't make him beg like that, make him plead for it. But Hutch took his time, pulling his head away to suck him in deep, again and again, a slow rhythm matched by the fingers that were fucking him, curling up and dragging against his sweet spot on each pass.

"Gonna die," Starsky said, panting it out. "My heart can't take it."

It was a dirty trick, but it worked, because Hutch sped up, moving his head 'round and 'round while his fingers corkscrewed into Starsky's ass. Starsky groaned in gratitude and focused on the heat tightening his balls, and then the come trembled through to his shaft, making him shiver right before the bomb hit and he arched up, yelling. Hutch sucked it all down, his throat and mouth moving around him until Starsky collapsed, his chest aching from the exertion.

He stroked Hutch's hair once in thanks, then rubbed at the ache.

Hutch pulled away and cleaned up, giving him a worried look.

"Hurting?"

"Not really," Starsky said, still panting a little.

"Yeah, huh?" Hutch didn't believe him. He was right not to. Now that Starsky was done coming, his whole torso was complaining.

 _Too much of a fucking wimp to even come properly._ The thought was depressing, but he still had Hutch to take care of, and the erection bulging the front of his white boxers.

"Take 'em off," Starsky said, pushing at the elastic band.

Hutch skinned out of them, but when Starsky started to heave himself up, stopped him with a gentle hand to his chest.

"Not like that," Hutch said. "Here..." Hutch lay down beside him and pulled Starsky over to rest on his shoulder. Then he took Starsky's hand and drew it down to wrap it around his thick erection. Starsky felt Hutch's cock throb in his hand.

"This is dumb," he murmured. They'd graduated past hand-jobs the second time they'd fallen into bed together. But Hutch just squeezed his hand and moved it up and down once.

Starsky started stroking him slowly. From his unique vantage point, cheek against Hutch's chest, he could see Hutch's small, tan nipple tightening into a stiff point mere inches from his mouth. The flesh was so tense that the very tip had turned pale. Starsky moved his head so he could reach it with his tongue and lips.

Hutch shuddered when he made contact, letting out a deep groan that reverberated in Starsky's ear.

He'd never paid too much attention to Hutch's chest, but Hutch's reaction was so encouraging that he did now, sucking and nibbling the point of flesh while he jerked Hutch's cock with his left hand. From the noises Hutch was making, Starsky could probably bring him off easy that way.

Starsky made note of the information as he closed his teeth and tugged.

"God, yes. Ohh..." Hutch moaned. "Bite harder." It came out on a whisper, and Starsky obliged, his dick twitching a little when he heard the low groan he forced out of Hutch by biting down on his nipple, pinching the sensitive tissue between his teeth while sucking hard.

"Oh!" Hutch grabbed his hand, a silent plea to pick up the tempo, and Starsky jerked him faster, pulling up with a tight grip and then squeezing even harder on the down-stroke until Hutch came, jerking in his hand, his chest lifting against Starsky's lips.

"Mmm," Starsky said, sucking the little nipple fully into his mouth before releasing it. It was flushed reddish bronze, and Hutch's come was all over his hand. He gave Hutch a few more strokes before Hutch pulled his hips away.

"Sorry." Starsky had been too distracted to notice Hutch was done. He grinned quietly to himself. _Even on the disabled list, I can still make him scream._

 __Hutch surprised him then by curling his arms around him, holding him close for a second before letting him go. He laid a kiss on Starsky's lips and then rolled out of bed. Soon after he returned with a towel that he dropped onto Starsky's stomach.

"Thanks." Starsky wiped his hands. He felt Hutch's gaze on him and looked up.

Hutch said after a moment, "Well, I guess I'll head out."

Starsky felt a brief pang, but dismissed it. Hutch wasn't his live-in help, and he'd already put in a long day.

 _Plus, gotta let the guy have a life of his own._

"Sure thing," Starsky said briskly. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay." Hutch looked at him for another long second. Starsky was used to it by now—Hutch's final visual check on his condition. He ignored it, and Hutch turned and left the bedroom, shutting off the lights on his way out.

ooOoo

Starsky was treated to more of Hutch's achingly slow loving over the next couple of weeks. At first it made Starsky impatient, but after a while he got to liking the tender touches and the soft kisses, especially since Hutch had kept his promise and shaved his upper lip, leaving it naked and smooth. And there was nothing condescending in Hutch's attitude to make Starsky resent their new way of doing things. In fact, outside the bedroom, Hutch kept pushing him to do more for himself, and he stopped helping him with the various dumb little tasks he'd taken on when Starsky first got out of the hospital.

And then, one night when Starsky had just woken up from his afternoon nap, Hutch called him up and wanted to go out.

Starsky hadn't really gone out in a while, except for the walk to the grocery store that was part of his daily workout. He wasn't sure he wanted to be seen by friends in his current condition. He knew he'd lost weight and moved slow, and he had a reputation to maintain. But Hutch was insistent, goading him into it.

"Afraid you can't take me at the pool table? I could give you a handicap...."

"Fuck you, Hutchinson." Starsky tried not to grin into the phone, knowing Hutch would hear it.

He didn't really want to go, but Hutch was persuasive, mentioning Huggy's new special chili fries and offering to pay for dinner.

"Pick you up at 7:00," Hutch said, and Starsky found himself agreeing.

The fries were damned good. Starsky's pool game was off, though, and he stopped after one pathetic game. Hutch offered to get the next round, and Starsky went back to their booth to wait. He had to reclaim it from a couple of other regulars who grumbled at losing the primo vantage point, but Huggy gave them a look and they cleared out.

'Bad Girls' came on the juke box, and Starsky felt his feet itching, but he wasn't up to dancing, and anyway the only cute chick in the joint was leaning up against the bar talking to Hutch.

 _What the hell?_

The girl was a blonde, of course. No big surprise there. Her big, sparkling eyes were batting overlong lashes Hutch's way, her teeth flashing a smile a minute. Hutch looked appreciative as he lounged in the high bar stool, one long leg stretched out to the floor and the other hooked on a rung.

Starsky started to regret making Hutch lose the moustache. Hutch was glowing, the dim bar lighting somehow catching in his hair, the blue of his eyes matching his pale blue shirt. As Starsky watched, Hutch lifted his beer mug and took a couple of long swallows, his tanned throat moving, and set the drink back on the bar. Then he was all ears again, and Starsky wished he had a wire on the two of them so he could hear what Hutch found so goddamn fascinating.

The blonde was talking more avidly now, her eyes dancing his way, and Starsky felt an inner rumble of jealousy as he saw her lean forward and rest one manicured hand on Hutch's forearm. Hutch shook his head at what she was saying, but he was laughing a little.

Nothing unusual, seeing Hutch talking up a bimbo. In fact, she looked familiar; Starsky was pretty sure he had chatted her up once, himself.

It was just that they had a deal. Hutch appeared to have forgotten that little detail. And Starsky was finding it hard to keep himself from getting up and knocking the flirting smile right off his partner's mouth.

He turned away from the temptation, wishing he had a drink. _We had an arrangement, and now he's going back on his end.  
_  
"Grab that for me, would ya?"

It was Hutch, holding out a frosty beer mug. Starsky reached up, and was pleasantly surprised when the weight of it didn't give him the usual pain in his chest muscles. Then he saw the blonde had tagged along at Hutch's side.

Hutch flicked him a glance before saying, "Lynn, you remember Dave, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Lynn said, flipping her hair back. "Hi, Dave."

"Hi." Starsky drank about half of his beer in some long swallows and avoided eye contact.

Hutch cleared his throat. "Starsky, Lynn wanted to know if—"

"Sorry, Lynn, but Hutch and I have somewhere to be," Starsky said curtly.

"We—?"

"Oh, that's too bad," Lynn said. From this range, Starsky could see that the frosty blue of her makeup covered her eyelids up to the eyebrows. He winced and set his beer down.

"Some other time, maybe," he said. He pushed his way slowly to the edge of the seat, and Hutch backed away to give him room.

"Yeah, I guess we should be on our way," Hutch said, sounding surprised. He jerked a little when Starsky landed a hard hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the door.

"That was a little rude," Hutch said after they'd left. "I mean, you went out with her once, you know—"

"Don't give a damn. Didn't want to come out in the first place," Starsky said sullenly. "Let's go home."

On the drive over, Hutch gave him a couple of looks inviting conversation, but Starsky was busy stewing without even understanding why. Except—they had a deal. _It's the principle of the thing,_ he decided. _Hutch can't have his cake and eat it, too._

Before he could open his mouth and voice the angry thought, Hutch pulled them up to the curb in front of Starsky's apartment. Starsky climbed out and slammed his door, for once not moving carefully. He came around the side of the LTD to where Hutch was waiting on the sidewalk and smiling at Starsky hesitantly.

Just so he knew it wasn't going to be cake, Starsky said, "We have to talk."

Hutch's face dropped immediately.

Starsky went first up the stairs, thinking hard but in circles, and as soon as they got inside, he closed the door behind Hutch and kissed him.

He hadn't been planning on it. After all, they really did have to talk. But once he did, everything else flew out of Starsky's head and he started to eat Hutch alive, starting with his tongue.

For one startled second Hutch didn't respond, and then Hutch's lips were moving on his, his tongue coming out in a tangled kiss, and he made a sound into Starsky's mouth. The noise was Starsky's cue to grind him back against the door. They went on kissing until it finally occurred to Starsky that he wouldn't be able to fuck Hutch through two layers of denim, so he hauled him over to shove him up against the side of the couch.

Starsky couldn't decide which part of him to get his mouth on first, and it felt like he had no time at all. Hutch grabbed him back just as hard, yanking at his clothes, but Starsky pushed his hands away and stripped off the Magnum and holster, the leather whipping around his palm, and then got Hutch's shirt off so he could get at his nipples. Starsky had him moaning and trying to get away in under fifteen seconds.

His cock burning, Starsky unbuckled Hutch's belt and yanked down his pants, letting him take the time to shake one leg free while he got his own pants unzipped. But just as Hutch looked up, Starsky spun him around and pushed him down over the side of the couch.

Hutch froze there, and Starsky could tell he was a little shocked. His back was stiff, and he turned his head, but Starsky wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Stay there. Don't move," Starsky said. There was a tiger in his throat, and he saw Hutch's eyes close.

Starsky hurried to the kitchen, his jeans falling and trying to trap his legs, so he held them up with one hand while with the other he grabbed a can of Crisco from the cabinet and rushed back.

Hutch hadn't moved, and the cheeks of his ass were tight and rippling, whether in anticipation or something else Starsky didn't know. He didn't really care, either; or, at least, he cared but it was in the back of his mind, and in the front was this ugly beast drooling and growling, and since it was the one at the controls, Starsky let go of his pants and opened the can.

Hutch must've heard him tearing off the lid, because when Starsky looked up from rubbing the stuff on his cock, Hutch had twisted his shoulders around was watching him.

Starsky let him see what was in his eyes.

Hutch's eyes closed again and he turned away, and Starsky knew he knew there weren't going to be any careful preparations. Starsky opened his mouth and tried to speak, but for a second no sound came out. Then he heard himself say, "Spread your legs."

Hutch pushed himself a little further onto the arm of the couch for balance and then spread his legs.

"Grab your cheeks," Starsky said, and there was a pause. Then Hutch slowly reached back and held his cheeks open for him.

The first thing Starsky touched him with was his cock, snugging it right up to his asshole, and Hutch shuddered when he felt it.

Starsky waited for just a second, letting Hutch anticipate it, teasing himself because he wanted it so bad, it had been so fucking long, and then Starsky went into him—pushed his cock into him fast and, God, Hutch was so tight around him, tight as he always was, but he wasn't resisting. Starsky grabbed Hutch's hips and sank in with one smooth stroke, got halfway home, and then pulled out again to spread the Crisco around before he thrust again, this time all the way, opening him up.

Hutch's hands fell away and he reached out with his left to grip the back of the couch, bracing his right on the arm of it. Good thing, too, because Starsky's groin hit his ass hard as he shoved in deep.

Hutch moaned like he was dying, but there was no real pain in it. So Starsky pulled out again, all the way, until just the tip hung in that tight little hole of his. And then he made Hutch open for him again, this time going slower, loving the feel of him yielding to his hard cock.

He did the same thing. Again. And again, because it felt so damned good, plunging in so slow and deep, and Hutch started to make some desperate sounds. The pace was too slow to get him off.

"Don't you like slow and easy?" Starsky growled.

He pulled out again and heard Hutch groan with frustration.

"Play with yourself," Starsky said roughly.

Hutch's head dropped. "Starsk," he said, the first thing he'd said since the bar. But Starsky wasn't ready to listen just yet.

"Play with yourself," Starsky said again. "Bring yourself off. I want to feel you coming around me."

Hutch rested his forehead against his arm and reached down, pulling on his cock. He started slow, and then his arm moved faster while Starsky kept bumping with his hips, picking up speed, his legs deep between Hutch's thighs.

Hutch gave a muffled moan on almost every stroke, and his back was rigid, the muscles standing out on either side of his spine. His ass was quivering around Starsky's cock.

 _Mine. You're mine. No one else can make you feel like this. No one._ Suddenly Starsky couldn't hold it back anymore, felt himself shooting past the point of no return. _Dammit. Too soon._ He pushed in, gripping Hutch's cheeks with his hands and spreading them so he could get even deeper before he came, his cock throbbing so hard he had to bite his lip against a scream. Pleasure soared through him as he pumped his load inside of Hutch's ass.

Starsky pulled out quickly and thrust three fingers into Hutch's body, reaching between Hutch's legs to palm his balls. Hutch groaned loudly and twisted, his hand still fisting his cock in a rapid rhythm. Then Starsky's fingers found Hutch's prostate and he stroked him, still playing with the heavy sac in his other hand.

Hutch reared up and let loose with a cry, and his muscles tightened around Starsky's fingers while he hosed down the side of the couch.

"Starsk. Starsk," Hutch gasped.

 _That's my name. That's who you belong to._ Starsky's legs were shaky, and he pushed himself away, but not before planting a kiss on Hutch's back to close the deal. Then he went to the bathroom and washed up a little before coming back with a hand towel.

Hutch was leaning against the arm of the couch. He was still breathing heavily.

Starsky handed him the towel.

"Well, that was unusual," Hutch said as he took it, his voice hoarse. He made a face and bent to wipe down the couch.

Starsky still felt the glimmer of jealousy. "You tryin' to say you don't know what that was about?"

"No. I guess I just didn't realize you were that...frustrated with me."

"Frustrated? You were flirting with her!"

Hutch's mouth dropped open, and he stared at Starsky as if he'd lost a screw. "Who, Lynn? Was that was this was about?"

"Like you don't know. We had a deal! And you were playing up to her."

Hutch's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "That'd be some fantastic new come-on line then, since all we did was talk about you."

Starsky felt himself turn blank. "About me?"

"Yeah, _you_." Hutch's voice went funny. "About how beautiful your eyes are, and what a-a great ass you have."

"About me." Starsky felt something in his gut loosen.

Hutch looked to the side. "I liked it, hearing her talk about you, since I agreed with most of it."

Starsky had to smile a little. "Whaddaya mean, 'most', Blondie?"

"Well, I think your ass is so-so." Hutch grinned suddenly, his color high.

But now Starsky was even more confused, and a little ashamed. "Then why did you let me...treat you like that?"

Hutch turned even redder, and he looked away. But when he spoke, his voice was dry.

"You mean, besides the fact I'd do anything for you?"

 _Oh, wow._ Starsky felt the warmth again, and he took a deep breath.

"Yeah, besides that," he said, his voice a little husky.

Hutch shrugged. "I thought you were tired of it, of me making you take it slow. I thought you'd had it with me going...romantic on you."

 _Romantic. Romantic?_ It was like Hutch had broken into Esperanto.

"I thought you wanted us to go back to what we were before." Hutch wouldn't meet his eye.

"Before," Starsky repeated slowly. Suddenly his idiot brain caught up with what Hutch was really saying. "You mean that's why...the slow and easy?"

Hutch couldn't get any redder. His hand came up to rub his jaw. "Yeah."

"Hutch." Starsky started to say something, he wasn't sure what, exactly, but his throat was too dry for him to go on, anyway. He swallowed involuntarily.

Hutch shifted, wincing, and he stood. "Guess I'll go clean up," he said dully. Before Starsky could get his stupid mouth to work, Hutch had disappeared into the bathroom. Starsky heard the sound of the shower starting up.

 _He was romancing me._ Starsky's chest felt hot. In fact, his face felt like it was burning up as well. He felt like such an idiot. All this time...Starsky heaved another deep breath, trying to still the shaking that had taken him. Then he took a step. And then another, easing into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes.

Hutch turned in surprise when Starsky pushed aside the shower curtain.

"I told...I told Kira, way back when..." Starsky ignored the sudden frown. "I told her, 'you come into this life alone, you go out of it alone.'"

Hutch wiped the water from his face and stared hard at him. "You really believe that?"

Starsky stepped into the shower. "Not anymore," he said.

Hutch's eyes grew wide.

"Because you wouldn't let me, Blintz."

Hutch smiled, a deep, joyful smile, his lashes wet. Starsky wasn't sure if it was from the spray or something else.

Either way, Starsky figured him for a keeper.

  


 _Fin_.

December 6, 2006  
Larkspur, CA


End file.
